


Strange Brew

by codswallop



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Bodyswap, Eventual Smut, Humor, M/M, Patrick is packing heat, briefly quite smutty actually, fake migraines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-01 01:50:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18790597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/codswallop/pseuds/codswallop
Summary: “We’ve got to call that vendor,” Patrick said. “Did you keep her card? You didn’t throw it away, did you?”“Um,” David said, running his hands down his chest now, his arms, ohgodPatrick’s arms. “I don’t…I think so? Hang on, though, could we just...explore this, for a few minutes, maybe, because it’s actually kind of—”“David.” Patrick came over and gripped him by the shoulders, looking very serious, and David was in awe; that was hot, that wasvery hot, that I-mean-business-NOW look on his own face. He’d have to try it, practice it in a mirror, once he got it back.





	1. Chapter 1

When David woke up, he was looking at himself. 

He was early-morning groggy and it didn’t register as anything that unusual at first; he vaguely thought that Patrick must have moved the mirror, and he was annoyed because it looked like he’d forgotten his under-eye night cream before turning in the night before. Then he noticed that his face in the mirror had its eyes closed, and _that_ was weird. 

Then his face opened its eyes and looked at him with an expression he was sure he wasn’t making, a look he didn’t even know he could make, and he shrieked and jerked away from it and fell off the other side of the bed. “What the fuck!” David cried out, only his voice was really messed up, it didn’t sound like himself at all—he touched his throat, but it didn’t feel sore, and then he glanced down at his hands and froze. Not his hands. Shorter, squarer. No rings. He knew these hands, he knew them very, very well, and they definitely weren’t his own.

“Oh, god,” he heard his voice saying from the other side of the bed. “David, what the— What have you done?”

 _“Me?”_ he cried, outraged, at least half an octave lower than he meant to, and then he knew. David got slowly to his feet and faced himself across the bed, and watched his own eyes widen in shock.

*

“It must have been the tea,” Patrick said, pacing back and forth. “David? Did you drink any of the tea? You must have. I said it tasted funny, remember how I said it tasted—David?”

David wasn’t listening. He was transfixed by the sight of his own body moving around with Patrick’s hunched shoulders, Patrick’s purposeful gait and short choppy hand gestures. It was weird and awkward and oddly hot. He touched his mouth, and then couldn’t stop touching it: Patrick’s mouth, Patrick’s lips. He tasted his fingers, Patrick’s fingers, right shape, wrong taste—they tasted like nothing at all. 

“We’ve got to call that vendor,” Patrick said. “Did you keep her card? You didn’t throw it away, did you?” 

“Um,” David said, running his hands down his chest now, his arms, oh _god_ Patrick’s arms. “I don’t…I think so? Hang on, though, could we just...explore this, for a few minutes, maybe, because it’s actually kind of—”

“David.” Patrick came over and gripped him by the shoulders, looking very serious, and David was in awe; that was hot, that was _very hot_ , that I-mean-business-NOW look on his own face. He’d have to try it, practice it in a mirror, once he got it back. Patrick’s fingers gripped him harder. “David, are you listening to me?” 

David shut his eyes and nodded. 

“Did you keep the weird tea lady’s business card?”

“I think so?” David said faintly. “Um. Back pocket of the pants I was wearing yesterday, you know, the calf-length drawstrings with the front slash zipper pockets and the gusseted,” he stopped and touched his lips again; Patrick’s mouth seemed not to know how to wrap itself around the word _gusseted_.

“Can you go find it for me? Now?”

They’d closed the store the day before and gone on a drive all the way down to Elm’s Bend to meet with a bunch of new potential vendors who had products they might want to branch out into. Some were amazing, some iffy, and some totally batshit—the woman who sold “notions and potions” from a falling-down shack on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere had clearly been one of the latter, and David had wanted to make some excuse to leave right away, but Patrick had insisted on sampling one of her teas, just to be polite.

“This is where politeness gets you,” David said, shuffling through the small stack of business cards he’d picked up the day before. “Do I get to say _I told you so_ now?”

“After we’ve fixed this, when you can say it with your own mouth? You can say anything you want to, David, yes. There, that’s it, isn’t it? The purple one? Give it here, I’ll call.”

Patrick grabbed the card and his cell phone, and swore when his fingerprints wouldn’t unlock the screen.

*

“So what now?” David asked, when the potions woman had utterly failed to answer her phone for twenty minutes and Patrick had finally given up and was sitting with his head in his hands, ignoring the cup of tea David had brought him.

“I don’t know.” Patrick sounded lost, and it was probably weird to want to put your arms around your own body to comfort the person wearing it, so David held back on that for now. “We’ll have to drive back down there, I guess. Or I will. I think I can find the way. You should go open the store soon. We can’t afford to lose another whole day’s revenue.” He reached for the mug of tea, sipped it, and grimaced. “This doesn’t even taste right,” he complained.

“Yeah, that’s because tea with milk in it first thing in the morning is gross and disgusting. Give it here. Wait, though: you want to drive back to the teahouse of Baba Yaga in the middle of Bumfuck Woods _by yourself_ , leaving me stranded in your body alone, by myself, forever, while you get mine turned into a frog or chopped up into stew meat? Well, _that’s_ a big no fucking way, mister.”

“I have to do something!” Patrick looked up at him, shuddered, and looked away quickly. “And I can’t...I don’t think I can be around you right now. It’s freaking me out.”

“Oh,” David said. “That’s. Okay, yeah. I understand.” Which he did, while simultaneously wanting to crack into a million little pieces at _I don’t think I can be around you right now._ It was himself that Patrick didn’t want to be around, technically, sort of, but still.

“David,” Patrick tried, “It’s not that—”

“I know, never mind, don’t,” David said quickly, because he couldn’t. “Um. Would it be better for you if you went and did the store today, then? Just to stay busy, I mean, and not at all because I’m trying to get out of work?”

“You think I could convincingly be you in front of people all day?” Patrick got up and swanned over to the mirror, waved his hands around vaguely, and did some highly, _highly_ unattractive things with his mouth. “Oh my god. Ew. That’s, like, literally not even a thing. I don’t know what that is.”

“Oh my god, stop that, you have to stop, right now. Never, never do that with my face again. Fine, you win. You’re not allowed to do that _anywhere_ where there’s the slightest chance people might see you. Just...go to the motel, then, tell everyone there you’ve got a migraine, and when they all leave, you can keep trying to reach Luna Lovegood on the phone and get her to tell you how to reverse this.”

“And you think you can convincingly be me all day?”

“Of course. I’ll just move my arms as little as possible, keep my hands in my pockets, and make snippy comments at everyone while doing cute things with the corners of my mouth all day. Super easy.”

Patrick was doing a trying-not-to-smile thing with the corners of his mouth right then, in fact, that was just...really irresistible-looking, and David had always known he was a bit of a narcissist but he wanted to kiss his own lips very badly. What would they taste like, to Patrick’s mouth? “I don’t make snippy comments at just _anyone_ ,” Patrick said. “I try to save most of that for you.”

How, David wondered, did Patrick not want to just forget the fucking store and lock themselves in here all day and explore what it felt like to touch each other all over from the other side of their skin? He clearly didn’t, though; he could still hardly look at David. “Okay,” David said, trying to keep the thread of the conversation. “No snippy comments, and I’ll change the subject very quickly if anyone asks me anything about baseball.”

They were standing next to each other in front of the mirror now, and it almost looked right, except that the Patrick in the mirror was wearing a $400 vintage black and white Issey Miyake tee and Thom Browne four-bar sweats that did nothing for his ass, while David was fidgeting uncomfortably in skin-tight cotton Hanes. David shuddered and tried not to think about chafing. “I’ll pick out some clothes for you,” he offered magnanimously. 

“Yeah, I don’t know,” Patrick said. “I’d probably just mess them up. I’ve got some Old Navy jeans that are a little too long on me, I think they might almost fit you, and that oversized plaid flannel I use sometimes when I have to do yard work, you know the one?”

It would have been obvious that Patrick was giving him shit on an ordinary day, but his usual tells sounded completely different in David’s voice, so David had to look closely at him to be sure. “Um, I’m pretty sure I threw that flannel out last fall,” he said, just in case.

“Oh, no, I rescued it,” Patrick assured him. “I knew it would come in handy again at some point. It might be a little stained now, but I gave it a good brush-off after I took it out of the trash; I’m sure it’s fine.”

Okay, definitely giving him shit, which was good, because if Patrick felt okay enough about their current situation to joke around, maybe there’d be a little bit of an opportunity for kissing and...and further exploration, before David had to open the store. “I mean, sure, I guess,” David said, looking at his mouth. “If that’s what you really want.” 

He took a step closer to Patrick, who was looking at _his_ mouth now, darting out his tongue to lick his lips, and for a moment David thought he was up for it, but Patrick took a quick breath and made a totally unreadable face and moved away. 

“You can pick out my clothes, David,” he said. “It’s after eight; you’d better go shower. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do in there, okay?”

*

It was fantastic being Patrick. Properly moisturized for once and decked out in his tightest jeans and the black shirt he’d worn at their first Open Mic Night, Patrick’s body felt like a million bucks, like driving a brand-new perfectly tuned-up BMW when you were used to going around in a slightly older model Lamborghini, admittedly flashy, that needed a lot of work under the hood. David was definitely going to have to take up regular exercise and cut back on the cinnamon rolls after this little adventure was over, but for now, he was going to enjoy every minute of it. He smiled effortlessly at the morning customers who came in for organic lettuce and French milled soap and eco-friendly dishwashing liquid, then did a little dusting and polishing when there was a lull at around ten. Not being able to comfortably reach the higher shelves was the one drawback so far. 

Patrick’s body did a lot of things well. David had known this, obviously, but now he really, really knew it, especially after that morning’s shower. He’d obeyed Patrick’s injunction, but surely _anything I wouldn’t do_ didn’t include a quick few minutes of self-pleasure; he’d had to be much less thorough and much more quiet about it than he would have liked, but even from that tantalizing little sample, he could tell that Patrick’s orgasms were fucking amazing. Not that he had anything to complain about with his own, but it had been excitingly different, and he wanted to do it again.

Thinking about it alone in the store, he _badly_ wanted to do it again. The tight jeans had been a mistake; they were now uncomfortably tight, and David was running his hands up and down his thighs and glancing speculatively at the clock and then at the bathroom door, when the outside door chime jingled and Alexis walked in.

David caught himself just in time and remembered that Patrick wouldn’t ask Alexis what the hell she was doing there or tell her to just get what she needed and be quick about it. Patrick was very nice to Alexis, so David raised his eyebrows and made himself smile a little in what he hoped was a passable imitation of surprised not-displeasure. “Oh. Hi, Alexis,” he said. “It’s...good to see you this morning. What do you...I mean, is there anything you need, in particular?” Was that nice enough? That was probably nice enough. Patrick didn’t like Alexis _that_ much, surely.

“Hi, Patrick,” Alexis sighed, and came right over and double cheek-kissed him. “Mmm, you smell really good today. Great shirt,” she added, and booped him on the nose. Was she actually flirting? Was this how she behaved with Patrick when he wasn’t around? _Gross_. 

“Thanks,” David said, through slightly gritted teeth, and clenched his hands so he wouldn’t swat her away. “Just thought I’d try something a little different. What did you come in for?” he prompted, because Alexis had moved away to wander aimlessly around, eye-shopping for anything cute they might have gotten in since she’d last stopped by.

“Oh,” she said. “David sent me over. He’s acting really weird today and being a huge pain, like, even more than usual. He _says_ he’s got a migraine, but he only ever says that when he’s trying to get out of something he doesn’t want to do, so, you know, I’m like, humouring him I guess, ugh.”

“Oh, no, he definitely does get migraines,” David said. “Bad ones. It’s...at least some of the time, for sure, he’s not faking them, they can get pretty serious.”

“I don’t know, Patrick.” Alexis had gone back to browsing, not really paying attention anymore. “He’s been faking them for years, it’s this whole _thing_ with him, and anyway, you’re probably aware of this by now, but David? Is a total hypochondriac, like—”

“No, no,” David said. “He really actually does, I mean I’m not saying he’s _never_ faked one, but there are times when—okay, I can tell, without a doubt, that he’s in very severe pain, so maybe just don’t...assume. Anything.” He cleared his throat, then lowered his voice a few notches to sound less excitable and more Patrick-serious. “So, anyway, you said he sent you over here just now? What for?” 

“Oh. Um, some kind of homeopathic headache remedy thing? He said you’d know, but that it might be hard to find, so just text him if you can’t remember where it’s kept.”

“Hmm.” David frowned. “Yeah, that’s...I’m pretty sure I know what he means, but just in case…” He pulled out Patrick’s phone, and found a text already on the screen: **Stall her, I still can’t get through, need more time to call**

_Sorry, I thought she had a thing today, I’ll try,_ David texted back.

“Actually, Alexis, if you’re not busy, would you mind, while I’m looking for the lavender oil, running over to the cafe to get me a…” Tea wouldn’t take very long, but it wasn’t lunchtime yet. “A ham and cheese omelet and an order of French toast?”

“Really? Um, sure, I guess. Working up an appetite around here this morning, hmm?”

“Yeah, it’s been really busy, and I’m on my own here today, so…” He pulled out Patrick’s wallet and gave her a twenty. 

“Aww, you poor thing!” Alexis pulled an exaggerated sad face. “Working yourself to the bone while my brother fakes a headache so he can lie around like a—”

“Well, it’s a _migraine_ , actually, not just a headache, and he’s definitely not faking,” David said. “And if he were, I’m sure it would be for a really, really good reason.”

Alexis gave him a pitying smile. “I know you’re super into him, Patrick. That’s so sweet. Just don’t let him take advantage of you too much, okay?” She booped his nose again.

“Mmm,” David said, biting back at least half a dozen things he could say instead, if he weren’t being Patrick. He waited until she’d left the store, then quickly called his own cell. 

“How’s it going? Do I dare to ask?”

“It’s going really badly,” Patrick said at once. “That Notions and Potions number is actually disconnected now, if you can believe that, so I’m trying to call around to other vendors in the area to see if they know anything about her, and find out if she’s ever been approved for a business license of any kind, which I strongly doubt, and all of this is made incredibly, _exponentially_ more difficult by the fact that your family,” Patrick stopped.

David gripped the phone tightly. “Yes?”

“David, I’m sorry to say this because they’re always really nice to me and I honestly think they’re great people, but your family is _insane_.”

David closed his eyes and smiled. This really was the best day ever. “I know.”

“No, but I mean they’re relentless, they actually won’t leave me alone, and even when I told them I had a migraine they were not at all sympathetic—do you do this a lot, fake migraines? Because—”

“Hardly ever,” David said sharply. “I really do get them. Sometimes.”

“Okay, well, I’m pretty sure they don’t believe me. Your mother is threatening to call a neurologist to get to the bottom of it, and your dad keeps coming in every three minutes with another suggestion for some remedy that he’s looked up on the internet—why did you think it would be a good idea for me to come here today?”

“I thought they’d be out! Sometimes they’re out. I’m sorry. But you see now, right, what I’ve always said—”

“David,” Patrick said, and he was able to get a surprising amount of his own voice into it. “Tell me you didn’t set this up to inflict your family on me like this on purpose.”

“Oh my god! No!” David was almost sure that nothing like that had been on his mind when he’d dropped Patrick off at the motel. He couldn’t remember why he’d thought it would be the best plan, except that it’s what he would have done if it actually were him and he did have a migraine; he’d want to be in his own bed, not at Patrick’s. He was almost never at Patrick’s by himself. “I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly this morning, for reasons that should be obvious, but look, you’re not a _prisoner_ there—just leave, go back to your place. Get Stevie to give you a ride.”

“You think I can be you in front of Stevie?”

“Don’t get Stevie to give you a ride. Don’t go anywhere near Stevie. I’ll close the store and come rescue you.”

“You’re not closing the store,” Patrick said. God, that was hot, Patrick making David’s voice all low and commanding like that; David closed his eyes and rubbed his hands up and down Patrick’s thighs again. He had to find a way to get some alone time with Patrick’s body like this before Patrick found a way to fix it, he just had to.

“Well, then,” David started to say, but just then he heard his mother’s voice in the background on Patrick’s end of the call.

“David! Are you talking on the telephone in there again?”

“God, they don’t even knock,” Patrick whispered to David. “Do they ever knock? They’re worse than Ray. How do you live like this?” He raised his voice, speaking to Moira. “I’ll be off in just a minute, Mi—”

“Not Mrs. Rose,” David reminded him quickly.

“—om,” Patrick finished. “Was there something you needed?”

“I just don’t think you should be talking so much, with such a terrible migraine that you can’t even help your father with the sheets or go over my notes for my council presentation with me, do you, David? It seems like an awful lot of talking, for someone who’s suffering as much as you’ve claimed to be, don’t you agree?”

“Yep, just trying to wrap this call up,” Patrick told her. “I’m talking to Da— Patrick. About the store. He was asking for help with a thing, something he really needed me for, but I’m almost through here, if you could give me a—”

“Well, I’m sure that’s not entirely true.” Moira’s voice was louder now; she was probably sitting on the edge of the bed. “Surely Patrick is more than competent to handle anything the store could throw his way; what could he possibly need help with from you?”

“See?” David demanded. “You see how she is to me when you’re not around? Now you see!”

“Mmm,” said Patrick. “You know, I really am feeling a whole lot better, in fact, Mom, and I’d be happy to help you with your notes after all, and Dad’s sheets, if I could just have three more minutes of privacy first—I love you guys, I really do, and I want to help out, but—”

“Oh no,” said David. “No, no. That was very wrong.”

“Well, I will say you’ve been acting very unusually today,” Moira said, after a pause. “Maybe you had better stay in bed after all. John!” she called out, and then her voice moved further away. “Do you still have the phone number for that neurologist in Elmdale that you found on the internet?”

“I’ll close the store and come rescue you,” David repeated.

“Put a sign on the door that says BACK IN FIFTEEN,” Patrick instructed him. “I’ll be waiting in the driveway.”


	2. Chapter 2

Alexis was standing in front of the store when they pulled back in, holding up a bag from the cafe in one limp-wristed hand and poking irritably at her phone with the other.

“I was just texting you! I thought you’d abandoned me,” she pouted to David. “I might have known David was behind it. Feeling better?” she asked Patrick sarcastically. 

“Not...not much, no,” Patrick said. “But your— our parents were driving me crazy, you know, so Patrick came to pick me up, and I think I’m going to take his car and go back to his place now, actually.”

“Hmm, are you, though?” David asked. “I mean...of course, hon, whatever you need, because I know your migraines can be seriously, seriously excruciating, but are you sure you should be driving off like that? Anywhere? By yourself?”

“Well, I wouldn’t go _far_ ,” Patrick said. “Just to—just to your place. I’m pretty sure that’ll be safe enough.”

“Okay,” David said guardedly. “If you promise to call me when you get there.”

“Absolutely,” Patrick assured him, and David wished he were saying it with his own face on; he still couldn’t read Patrick’s expressions mapped onto his own features, but then Patrick leaned over and kissed him, and he forgot everything. He was only doing it because Alexis was there, probably, and it was only a swift press of his lips, no tongue, but it still made David go slightly weak: the way his own mouth felt to Patrick’s, the brief thrilling scrape of David’s stubble, the unexpected sensitivity of Patrick’s upper lip.

“He forgot his lavender stuff,” Alexis said, as Patrick got back into the car. “But you know, you might be right about the migraine—he does kind of look like crap today. Don’t tell him I said so.”

“He does, yeah,” David said lovingly. “Is that my food you’ve got there? Thanks, you’re a doll.”

 _You’re a doll_ was something he occasionally said to Alexis with deep sarcasm and Patrick would never, but she just shook her head at him in slight bewilderment and walked away, without giving him the change from his twenty.

*

“Okay, thank you for not running off into the wilderness to track down Morgan le Fay singlehanded,” David said, when Patrick called him again. “You had me a tiny bit worried that you might.”

“No, it’s too risky, you were right. Besides, I’d probably get there and find out that the place burned down fifty years ago or something. Who told us about her, who gave us the address, do you remember?”

David didn’t. People were constantly telling him about potential new vendors, some cousin who made this surprisingly delicious jam using corncobs and watermelon rind, or a friend whose neighbor did the cutest picture frames out of old flatware. He felt like he _should_ remember, and maybe he would, when he was less distracted, but Patrick’s urgency about the whole thing made him perversely not want to try.

“Think,” Patrick insisted. “I’m pretty sure it would have been you who made the contact.”

“Customers, sorry, I’ll call you back,” David said, and hung up. It was true, actually; there were a few of them milling around, and he ought to go over and see if he could make up their minds for them.

It stayed busy for the next few hours, off and on. Approximately half of their repeat customers who came in looked around questioningly and seemed—he was almost sure he wasn’t imagining it—disappointed that David wasn’t working. The other half smiled sunnily at Patrick and didn’t look around for David at all, which was displeasing but fair, he supposed. Then there was the woman he’d sold some badly needed exfoliating toner to the month before, who came back to replenish her supply and told him that it was nice to be waited on by him and not the dramatic one this time. “No offense,” she said. “He’s just a bit much, you know, isn't he, a little too—”

David cut her off before she could get to the adjective; it wasn’t like he hadn’t heard them all. “Yeah, but he gives head like a pro,” he told her, and smiled blandly as she reddened and stammered her way through the rest of the transaction. 

All in all it was exhausting, and he was in a less than great mood when Patrick called him again later in the afternoon to see if he’d remembered anything yet. 

“Sorry, no luck,” David told him. “Guess you’re trapped in my body indefinitely. Fate worse than death, huh?”

“David,” Patrick said, and then “Sweetheart,” very gently, which was something he almost never said. It made his eyes prickle, but Patrick’s didn’t tear up as easily as his own, apparently. 

“I really like yours, you know,” he said, trying not to put too much bitterness into it.

“I like yours, too! That’s _not_ the issue here. Trust me.”

“Oh,” said David. “It just seems, you know, like you’re kind of desperate to get out of it, so.”

“Well, it would be nice to know we’re not going to be stuck like this permanently, wouldn’t it? Because that might not be the most convenient thing. And I like _you_ in your body. I like the way it looks; I like the way it feels. I’m, uh, not too keen on the idea of making out with mine.”

“But you’re really hot,” David said, surprised. “You wouldn’t want to fuck yourself? I’d totally fuck me if I weren’t me.”

“Uh huh,” Patrick said, in an _and there you go_ tone of voice. 

“Okay, well, you’re missing out, that’s all I can say. And I think, once you got over yourself, you’d figure that out. But all that aside, I mean, feel free to enjoy my body in whatever solitary ways you can dream up.”

“I sort of...have been, yeah,” Patrick admitted, sounding so shamefaced about it that it had to be true, and David’s lower belly gave a jolt. 

“Oh my god, tell me,” he said. 

“You’re at work.”

“There’s no one in the store. I’m closing _right now_.”

“Not for another hour and a half, you’re not.”

“Patrick,” David whined. “Okay, fine, but maybe don’t do it again before I get there, because I want to bring you off the next time. You don’t even have to look at me, if it bothers you; you can close your eyes, but...just think about it, I’ll know exactly where to touch you and how hard and for how long; I can keep you right on the edge for an hour, if you want, and then make you come until you beg for it to stop…”

“Fuck,” Patrick said. “That’s...yes. That’s a yes. Listen, though, it really doesn’t bother you at all that we don’t have any idea how to reverse this?”

“You’ll figure something out,” David said. “You always do. Oh, goddamnit, I’ve got to hang up—Stevie’s about to walk in. Hands off, don’t forget. Or, hands on, if you want to get yourself good and worked up for me, but only to a point…”

“I’m hanging up now,” Patrick said. “See you later.”

David moved behind the counter as Stevie came into the store, thinking hard about baseball, except that he didn’t know enough about baseball to think much about it; still, it helped a little.

“Hi, Patrick,” Stevie said. “How’s it going?”

It felt like a test. It really wasn’t fair to have to do this right now, when all he wanted to do was think about the conversation he’d just had with Patrick. He tried very hard to think about every time he’d ever seen Patrick interact with Stevie; of course, he’d never seen them interact when he wasn’t around. What if they secretly hated each other? He was pretty sure they didn’t hate each other. 

“Hi, Stevie. Going good,” he went with, which seemed safe enough, if boring. “What’s up?”

“Oh,” Stevie said. “You know. The usual.” Also boring, but okay. Maybe Patrick and Stevie were really boring together when David wasn’t around. He’d be fine with that. He tried to think of a way to find out why Stevie was there without sounding weird about it, but she got to the point right away. 

“I just came in to get another one of those scented candles for the motel office,” Stevie explained. Okay, that was normal; that was a real reason Stevie might drop by the store, so maybe this wasn’t a test. Those candles smelled fucking amazing. He’d picked them out with the motel specifically in mind. “I can’t remember what they were called, though,” Stevie went on. “Do you know?”

Sandalwood Scentscape was what they were called, _obviously_ , but would Patrick remember that? Doubtful. “Hmm,” he said. “What do they smell like?”

“Kind of like...if someone lit a bonfire in a library and then tried to put it out with a gallon of vanilla,” Stevie said, which was actually impressively apt. “You know the ones I mean?”

It was hard not to just go over and grab the right candle off the shelf and hand it to her so this could be over, but there was no way Patrick would be able to guess from that description. “Wow, huh, I’m not sure, actually. David would know, I guess. He’s the scent expert. He’s not in today, though.”

“No, I know, I was texting with him earlier. Migraine, huh? That blows. Mind if I go sniff the candles, since I’m here? I might be able to figure out which one it was.”

“Oh, sure, sniff away,” David said, waving a hand toward the candle section, then quickly jammed the hand down into his pocket in case the gesture was a giveaway. He didn’t know why he was so nervous. Stevie would never be able to guess what was actually going on; no one would. It was too insane. 

“Of course, he’s obviously faking it,” Stevie said, sniffing a candle, making a face, and pushing it to the back of the shelf. 

“Faking it,” David said. “You think so, really?”

“Uh, _pshyeah_.” Stevie sniffed another candle and rejected that one, too. “Pretty sad. Is it one of his attention-getting things, do you think, like we talked about?”

Well, this was bad. This was getting very bad. “Like we...right, yeah, we talked about that, huh. I’d forgotten. You and I, the two of us, talking about David. David and his attention-getting things. What was it we—”

“God, this one smells like a gym locker,” said Stevie. “Or do you think it’s just that he’s a lazy SOB who over-relies on you because he never learned how to do a full day’s work?” She turned and looked dead on at him as she said it, innocently poised and unblinking, biting the corner of her lip just a teeny, tiny bit.

David waited a few beats, staring at her, heart in his throat.

“Stevie Budd, you’re the meanest person I’ve ever met,” he said finally. “What the _fuck?_ How? How did you know?”

“He wrote ‘LOL’ in one of his texts from your phone, David. Unironically.”

David winced. “I’m trying to break him of that.”

“Yeah, and the texts were all properly punctuated, too, so I figured either you’d had an actual stroke, or it had something to do with the fact that you and Patrick were down in Elm’s Bend yesterday. Notions and Potions?”

“ _Oh_ my god,” said David. “Oh my _god_. You know about that place?”

“Everyone knows about that place. That’s Twyla’s aunt.”

“Oh my GOD. Twyla! Yes! That’s who told me about it! Stevie, watch the store for a minute, please please, I’ll owe you a million dollars. I’ll be right back.” 

He was out the door and running across to the cafe before she could say no. Patrick was great at running, too; it felt fantastic. He’d run everywhere all the time if it felt like this. He wasn’t even out of breath when he got inside and called out “Twyla!”

“Oh! Hi, Patrick. Tea time, right? Milk and one sugar, coming right up!”

“No,” David said. “Skip the tea. Although, speaking of tea, Twyla, remember when you told me about your aunt out in the boonies who made these really super unique unusual herbal blends that it might be fun to carry at the store? Do you remember that conversation?”

Twyla frowned. “Did I have that conversation with you? I feel like I told David about her, a few weeks back, but I don’t remember you being there— Oh! Oh wow! Oh gosh. David? Is that you?”

“Yeah, _hi_ ,” said David. “I have questions.”

“You went! Wow! Aunt Irene is so amazing, isn’t she?”

“Oh, she’s something, all right. We’ve been trying all day to get in touch with her and tell her exactly what we think about her...amazingness.”

“Yeah, she’s not so great at remembering to pay her phone bills on time. Plus she travels a lot, to specialty conventions; it’s lucky she was in when you stopped by. Did you get some good samples? Do you think you might start carrying any of them at your store?”

“They’re a little too esoteric to meet the day to day needs of our clientele, I’m afraid,” David said. “No,” he added, when Twyla cocked her head in puzzlement at him. “That’s a...that’s a _hard_ pass.”

“Oh. Too bad. Still, what a trip, right? You should try one of her other ones sometime. I don’t recommend the telepathy tisane, because there are some things you just _really_ don’t need to know about your neighbours, but she has this whole line of animal transformation ones that are super crazy fun. You have to watch your intake on those, though—I spent an entire week as an owl once, and that got old a lot faster than you might think.”

“Mm hm, and on that note,” said David. “Does your aunt also sell antidotes, by any chance, would you know?”

“Oh, they’re all self-reversing. Didn’t she tell you? It’ll wear off in a day or so, unless you drank a whole bucket of it. Oh, okay, you’re taking off already?”

“Got to go make a phone call,” David said, halfway out the door, then turned back to add, “And...thanks, Twyla. I think. Yeah. Thanks.”

“No problem!” Twyla called out, as he darted back to the store, and she may have also added “Have fun!” but he didn’t want to think about that too much, so he decided maybe he’d imagined it.


	3. Chapter 3

“So,” David said, when he got back to Patrick’s place that night, and then didn’t know what came next. Patrick was sitting in one of the armchairs with a book, but it didn’t look like he was getting very far with it. He had recently showered, apparently, and changed out of the clothes David had picked out for him that morning; he was now wearing David’s plainest black jeans and a black zip-up hoodie over a plain white tee, loose and untucked, and his feet were bare, which was disturbing but not unhot. 

“So,” David tried again. “Um. Are you hungry? I could...cook…?” He couldn’t cook, but maybe some of Patrick’s abilities had transferred over; unlikely, but he felt like he should offer.

“I’ve been eating off and on all afternoon,” Patrick admitted. “How about you, are you hungry?”

“Not very,” David said.

“So we’re both not hungry.” Patrick had been stealing looks at him ever since he’d walked in, little darting glances that were getting more and more daring, and now he finally looked right at David and met his eyes boldly. “What do you want to do?”

It was harder to hold that brave gaze than David had expected. It actually wasn’t like coming face to face with himself at all. Or it was, but like looking at a much younger version of David Rose, maybe, with completely different body language, his armour of mannerisms all stripped away. 

“Mm, I think might just go to bed, actually,” David told him. “I’ve been thinking about bed all day. I might take a shower first, and then just...yeah, bed sounds really really good to me for some reason; it’s been a very long, very stressful day.”

“Oh, sure.” Patrick nodded. “I’ll just stay up and read, then. Maybe get some paperwork done. Let you get your rest.”

“Thanks,” David said. “That’s really considerate of you.” He got up and kissed Patrick on the top of the head on his way to the bathroom—he’d clearly had no idea what to do with David’s hair, but that was okay; it was pretty advanced. 

*

When David reemerged fifteen minutes later, he was freshly clean, wearing one of Patrick’s t-shirts and a pair of his gray boxer briefs, because even if Patrick weren’t freaked out to begin with it would probably be shocking to see yourself walk out suddenly naked. David wouldn’t have liked it at all. 

Patrick had put out most of the lights in the apartment and was on the bed now, also down to his t-shirt and briefs. He wasn’t reading. 

“Gave up on your book and paperwork?” David asked him.

“Yeah, you know, bed just sounded really good to me, too, actually. You’re right, it was a long day.” 

David slid into bed next to him and then didn’t know what to do. It was ridiculous. He’d been thinking about this _all day_ ; he’d had sex with Patrick hundreds of times and sex with himself at least a million. What was his problem?

“You know, at the end of the day, this is just… _really_ weird, huh,” Patrick said, watching him hesitate.

David nodded. “I mean, we don’t actually have to do anything, you know, if you’re not comfortable...”

“Not necessarily _bad_ weird, though,” Patrick went on. “Not completely.” He reached up to draw David’s head down and kiss him: a real kiss this time, tasting his lips and then opening his mouth, touching his tongue against David’s, hesitantly at first and then firmly, probingly. When Patrick finally broke the kiss and pulled back, his eyes darted away from the sight of his own face right away, but he was shyly smiling.

“Not completely bad is good,” David managed, feeling dizzy and off-kilter. He was never that aggressive with his tongue, but it felt great to Patrick’s mouth, it felt really...really great. He couldn’t remember the last time just a kiss had made his nerves zing like that. 

“Hey, I didn’t say it was good,” Patrick corrected him, glancing at him again with a half-smile that David had always found particularly attractive on himself. “Just not bad. Listen, though, I’ve been thinking. I’ve had some time to think today, about what I’d really like, and I came up with a plan; do you want to know?”

“Of course you did,” David said agreeably. This was good, actually; this was familiar ground. “Yes. Tell me your sex plan, please, Patrick.”

“Well,” Patrick said, looking at his hands now, David’s hands, studying them. “What you said to me on the phone earlier was incredibly hot, first of all, and that’s definitely something I want—I couldn’t keep my hands off myself after you said it.”

David made a sound, some kind of sound; he couldn’t help it. 

“But we don’t know how much time we have left like this,” Patrick went on, a little unsteadily, “and what I really, really want, top priority, is to know how it feels to get fucked by my cock.”

“God,” David breathed, and he was suddenly very, very aware of the thickness of Patrick’s cock, heavy between his legs. 

“Because you definitely seem to enjoy that, when we do it,” Patrick pursued, “And I _know_ I do, but I’m always kind of worried about hurting you, so I could make it even better for both of us, I think, if I knew exactly what it’s like for you, what feels best—”

“You’re going to kill me and we haven’t even done anything yet,” David told him, squirming against the low-grade cotton of Patrick’s briefs. “Yes. Yes. Yes. Anything, but if you want that the most, yes.”

“Thanks,” Patrick said, with David’s crooked wicked smile again. “One more thing, though, which you might not like as much, but...could we put out the lights? It’s not dark out yet for a while so it won’t be _totally_ dark, but the thing is, and I’ve thought about this quite a bit, too...I really don’t have a problem with the way I look, you know, I’m good, but I’m also just...definitely not all that attracted to myself, if that makes any sense?”

“It makes no sense whatsoever,” David told him, shaking his head. “But yeah, of course, whatever it takes for you is—yes.”

“Good,” Patrick said, and kissed him once more, and then reached over him to switch off the bedside light.

*

At first David was just purely salivating for it. At last, he thought, he was going to get to show Patrick exactly how hard he liked it, exactly how careful Patrick didn’t have to be, but it didn’t take long before he saw the flaw in this arrangement. He knew what felt good to his own body, obviously, but that was _Patrick_ in there now. David didn’t mind a little pain—sometimes even a lot of pain was exciting to him, in fact, but how much of that was physical enjoyment and how much was his own fucked-up psychology? And it wasn’t as if it were always super gentle and sweet when he fucked Patrick—Patrick liked it rough, too, but Patrick’s cock was a lot thicker than David’s; it was a lot to take. He loved it, but it was a lot, and what was Patrick going to think about how much it actually felt like being split open for the first couple of minutes, the fact that David liked that feeling; was it something he should be ashamed of, Patrick knowing that?

So he gave Patrick a bit more prep that he really would have needed himself, and that was kind of great, too--he was able to show Patrick exactly how amazing his fingers felt inside of David: three fingers, slightly crooked and fucking in and out of him fast, was almost enough to make him come without anything else touching him sometimes. 

“Stop,” Patrick gasped, and David drew his fingers out instantly. “No, it’s okay,” Patrick said after a minute, breathing hard. “I thought I might— but it’s okay. David, I want you to fuck me now, please, I’m ready, fuck me.”

David hesitated.

“I know how you like it,” Patrick said. “You can do it to me. I want to feel it.”

Which was too hot to resist for long, and he was aching-hard and leaking, and they were both slick with all the lube in the world at this point, it felt like, so David hooked Patrick’s ankle over his shoulder and lined himself up, thinking about how much he loved that moment of being suddenly _so_ full, zero to a million. Then he pushed in hard and deep, all the way in at once.

“Holy fuck,” Patrick cried out, digging his fingers hard into David’s sides, and David froze.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “Oh god. Patrick, I’m so sorry—” He started pull out, but Patrick clutched onto his hips, pulling him back. 

“No, it’s, it’s fine, don’t, it’s just, _holy fuck_ , David. That’s a lot. That’s a lot.”

“I like it, though,” David said, feeling his face heat up but needing him to know. “I like—I _love_ how you feel inside me, how it’s almost too much, I know it hurts but it’s…” He didn’t have the words, especially not now. “It’s good,” he said helplessly. “It just feels right, it feels good.”

“I know.” Patrick’s hands were stroking up and down his sides now—oh, Patrick’s sides were very… _very_ sensitive; he’d have to remember that. “Okay. Show me.”

“It’s not too much for you?”

“I’m not me,” Patrick reminded him, and turned his head to kiss David’s wrist. “I’m you.”

*

It didn’t last long, for either of them. The drawback to knowing exactly where each other’s hot spots were was that it brought them to the brink much too quickly, and they were both too excited to hold back. David had thought he’d be able to just stop, when he could tell Patrick was close, but he hadn’t factored in the invisible momentum in Patrick’s mind that was going to push him over the edge no matter what. One minute he was slowly fisting Patrick’s cock, fucking him with a deep roll and _snap_ of his hips that always drove David half insane when Patrick did it to him; the next moment Patrick had suddenly clamped his own hand down hard over David’s and said _oh—_ , and David felt him begin to spasm, felt the wetness on his hand even before Patrick could finish gasping out _stop, hang on, I’m gonna—_ , and then it was all over; he couldn’t last either, with all that stimulation going on, and he didn’t really want to. 

The sounds coming out of David’s throat were Patrick-sounds, that high-pitched desperate hitching gasp which he only ever made when he was just about to come. David _loved_ that sound, he wanted to keep it and protect it forever, and he didn’t want Patrick to hear him making it; what if it was embarrassing for him, what if— But then the physical sensation of Patrick’s orgasm overtook everything in his head, wave after wave of mounting pleasure-shocks, and he didn’t know what he was doing or saying until the grip of it eased.

“I wish I could see your face,” Patrick said softly into the dark. His fingertips just brushed David’s jaw and then retreated. “I mean… _your_ face. I don’t actually ever need to see my own at a time like this.” 

David thought he would agree, if he were capable of thought yet. He still had bad flashbacks to the mirrored ceiling in the motel love room sometimes. Patrick had probably been right to turn the lights out. 

Also, he just had zero desire to cuddle with his own body post-coitally; Patrick had been right about that, too.

“Yeah, I miss you,” David said finally. “I mean that was just...fucking amazing, don’t get me wrong—”

“I know.” Patrick took his hand and kissed it. “It was. You were. Thank you.”

The warm embarrassed needy glow that David got whenever Patrick praised him was still there, but it felt subtly different in Patrick’s body, and he didn’t entirely like it. He missed himself, too, he decided, and of all the weird things he’d experienced today, that felt possibly the weirdest. 

“It’ll wear off soon,” Patrick assured him, and pressed a kiss onto David’s forehead. “Go to sleep. You’ll see me in the morning.”

*

There never had been any sight in history more perfect to wake up to than the back of Patrick’s neck, sweet and vulnerable in sleep, and the broad tapering muscles of his naked back. David had thought so even before all this, to the point of feeling sorry for everyone else in the world who didn’t get to experience it. He wrapped his arms around Patrick’s chest and burrowed into his neck, kissing and kissing it, _not_ as if he wanted to get inside Patrick’s skin, because he’d definitely had enough of that for now; he just wanted to taste it, feel the perfection of it against his own lips, maybe worship it a little. 

“Mmm,” Patrick said, twisting around in David’s arms to smile at him. “Hi, beautiful.”

***

 

EPILOGUE: A text conversation

 

**So when you said EVERYONE knows about Twyla’s aunt**

_Who is this_

**It’s David, you dick-biter**

_Okay, Patrick would never call me a dick-biter, I guess it’s actually you_  
_Welcome back_

**Patrick also doesn’t know about the birthmark on your inner thigh**  
**OR DOES HE**  
**lol**

_I liked you better when Patrick was you_

**ILU Stevie**  
**Stevie**  
**Stevie hey Stevie**  
**I know you want to tell me how you know about Twyla’s aunt**

_I’m never going to tell you that story_

**I’ll bring you tapenade**  
**and brie**  
**and a bottle of that wine you like**

_Mutt, graduation night, bonfire party_

**OMG!!!**

_Deets when you bring me the goods_

**I’ll be there at 5:30**  
**omg Mutt really????**

_He may have been dating my cousin at the time_  
_The hot one_

**OMFG STEVIE**  
**Nvmd about that wine you like, I guess I’ll bring you a bottle of something white**

_I was Mutt at the time, doesn’t count_

**Oh it counts**  
**I’ll be there at 5:03 actually**  
**Patrick can do the closing stuff **  
**** **I NEED THE TEA**  
**Not the actual tea though**  
**Although it was pretty wild last night**

_TMI David_  
_just bring the tapenade_  
_dick-biter_

******K G2G ILU LOL J/K** ** **

_I’m texting Patrick now to tell him to take your phone away_

******be there 5:03 kbye!** ** **


End file.
